After a morning of sticking 500 labels on 500 envelopes, I wish I'd taken the day off and was instead paddling through piranha- and croc-infested waters to deliver a gallon of clean water to a remote tribe. Mundane repetition makes me imagine and wonder all sorts of things.
Like whether or not I will write a memoir of my happy childhood, and what I should title it.
Or why there is an urge inside me to create, why I'm afraid of it and what I'm going to do about it.
Or laugh at my idea to leave the car at home and take a pogo stick instead.
Or how to get over myself and make someone else's life beautiful.
Or Yikes!! Do I have a victim mentality?
Or what, exactly, is so wonderful about toast? Is it the endless possibilities? The texture? The perfect size?
Enough of that. One of these days, an imagination will come in handy. In the meantime, I'll do my darndest to be productive where I am.
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I'm really into toast. and imagining.
ReplyDeleteI imagine all the time with the kids I live with. I love it, except when they have me be the dad. I always make up a reason why we don't need to have a dad in the game when they tell me I am him. Today, he died in the war. I got to be the mom!